


Sakharine's Desire

by lessthanpure



Category: Adventures of Tintin (2011)
Genre: (haddocks' only mentioned), F/M, Genderswap, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, always a girl tintin, have you noticed my oral kink yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 18:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13393785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lessthanpure/pseuds/lessthanpure
Summary: Sakharine really wants TinTin





	Sakharine's Desire

“You could align yourself with me, Tintin,” Sakharine says, looking over his steepled fingers at the girl. 

Tintin raises her chin defiantly. “Never.”

“No? But I have the means to take care of you,” he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. Tintin pauses. “Ah. Yes, I could. I have many resources at my disposal,” he continues. “You’d never have to worry about making money again. You could still write for your paper, of course, but you wouldn’t have to worry about a paycheck. You could go on as many adventures as you’d like, stop all sorts of…criminals,” he shrugs. “As long as you leave my dealings alone.”

Tintin bites her lip, and Sakharine feels her knee brush his under the table. He raises his eyebrows. “But maybe….that’s not the sort of ‘taking care of’ you were imagining,” he realizes. Tintin flushes beautifully. He leans back in his seat, chuckling. “Maybe you were thinking of a more….personal nature.”

Tintin glares ineffectually at him. 

“Come,” he says, standing. He leads her to his room, holding the door open for her. She sweeps past him, standing in the middle of the room. “Sit,” he gestures to the foot of the bed. She pauses before settling there, uncertain. He sits properly next to her. He cocks his head, considering his next words very carefully. “Perhaps,” he says. “Perhaps you imagines something of a sexual nature?”

Next to him, he feels Tintin shift, and out of the corner of his eye he sees her clench her thighs together. He grins sharply. “Oh, my dear Tintin. Of course,” he says, syrupy as honey. She shivers next to him. “Though, I wonder what exactly ran through your clever head.” He examines his fingers. “Perhaps my fingers,” he ponders. She shudders next to him. He grins, sharklike. “Long and thin,” he muses. “On your skin, stroking you?” Tintin taps her fingers on the bedspread. “Trailing down to rest between your thighs,” he continues, gently brushing his fingers against the top of her thigh. 

Tintin startles under his fingers, but doesn’t pull away. He presses more firmly, trailing them up until she spreads her legs for him. He cocks his head, pleased. He slowly bunches up her skirt, and her fingers twitch before she helps. He murmurs under his breath, appreciative. She breathes out sharply as he brushes his fingers just to the side of her panties. “Pulling aside your underwear,” he continues, voice more affected now, as he follows his words with the action. “Pressing inside,” he says, stilling his fingers. Tintin whines. “You need to speak up, Tintin.”

“Yes, yes I thought of that,” she says, voice high. He grins triumphantly and slowly eases in. She’s wet around him, and he hums. She grabs at his shoulder, hips moving to take more of him in. He pulls away, and she stills. This is on his terms. 

“What else did you think about,” he asks. 

“God, God, whatever you want,” she breathes out. 

“That’s not an answer, my dear.”

Tintin grits her teeth. “Fine, fine! I- I thought of,” she pauses, a beautiful red painting her cheeks. “Y-your thumb,” she whispers, screwing her eyes shut. “Brushing against my- m-my-“

“Your what,” Sakharine muses, thumb moving to press against her clit. “Here?”

She gasps, rocking against his hand. This, he allows her. “Yes, yes.”

“What else,” he asks, slowly pressing in the single finger, savoring the hitch in her breath and the warmth surrounding him. 

“God. W-what’s your name,” she asks him. 

Sakharine smiles and puts his mouth to her ear, breathing the answer there. “Ivan.”

“Ivan,” she repeats. And Lord, how he likes the way her mouth forms the word. She turns her head and leans forward. “Kiss me?”

He obliges, and she tastes like victory. Oh, he’s seen the way Haddock watches this girl, how he wants her. And she wants him. He’s the one with his tongue in her mouth, with his fingers in her cunt. She presses her hands to his shoulders, urging him on. “Another finger,” she begs. He presses in a second alongside the first. 

“What else did you think about,” he asks. 

“Your mouth,” she admits. Sakharine’s eyes light up. She seems to notice and blushes harder. 

“My mouth where,” he asks innocently, curling his fingers. She keens, nice and loud. “Here,” he asks, brushing against her pulse point. He kisses here softy. She gasps, and he bites down. He lets go, moving and half-getting up, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat. “Here?” She whines and her fingers move to her shirt, fumbling over the buttons but opening it, leaving it loose about her shoulders. She fumbles over her bra, Sakharine waiting hungrily. She gets it off, pulling her clothes off, leaving her top half bare. He takes a moment to take her in. Chest heaving, bare from the waist up, skirt rucked around her thighs, garters showing….she’s beautiful. 

“Ivan,” she whines. Right. He leans forward, kissing in the valley ebwteen her breasts. “Here?” He drags his mouth sideways and lays a soft kiss on her nipple. “Here?” She presses her fingers through his long hair and whines, gently pulling him closer. “Ah. Here.” He opens his mouth, being gentle with her. Tintin arches against him, almost purring. He uses his free hand to take off his glasses, putting them in his pocket. He curls the fingers inside of her, and she throws her head back. With his mouth on her and his fingers in her, he makes her come.

He slowly extracts the hand inside of her, ignoring the way her body clutches at him, trying to keep him inside. She makes such a delicious sound of loss that he immediately wants to replace his fingers, but he trails them up her body and pauses them at her lips. She looks him in the eye as she takes them into her mouth, sucking her own taste off of them. A groan inadvertently escapes him. “Did you think of my mouth anywhere else,” he asks, trying to sound unaffected. 

She nods. “Where your fingers just were.”

“Where? Here,” he asks, licking into her mouth. God, she tastes delectable. She pushes at his shoulders, and he goes on his knees for her. He pulls down her skirt, pulling the fabric free from her feet. He also takes off her shoes, admiring her garter. He bends to run his tongue over the fabric and the skin alongside it, and Tintin moans. He divests her of her other clothes, sitting back on his heels. Her thighs are shaking, the inside shining wetly. He presses her knees open with his hands, leaning forward and delicately licking. She shudders hard. He presses closer, licking deeper. 

“Ivan,” she moans. He presses his hands to her hips, and she fists her hands in his hair. “Oh, Ivan, Ivan.” With each saying of his name, he rewards her with a curl of his tongue. He fucks her with it, and she sobs. “Oh, God, oh God.” She comes around him, and he drinks her down. He comes away, licking his lips. “Oh, God, get up here,” she says, pulling at his jacket. 

Tintin undoes his tie, yanking it off over his head. Sakharine shrugs off his jacket, leaving it in a pile on the floor, completely unlike him. He needs to be in her as soon as possible. “Why. Are you wearing. So many. Bloody clothes,” she asks him between kisses. They finally get him naked, and he presses her into the mattress. She takes him in hand and guides him in. He lowers his head into her neck at the searing heat and wetness. She clutches at his back, rolling her hips against him. 

“One moment, my dear,” he gasps, and she stills. “One moment.” He lays sucking kisses along her neck, and she bares her throat to him. He thrusts experimentally, and, assured he won’t finish immediately, starts to fuck her. She moans, holding onto him. 

“Ivan,” she whines. Her nails scratch pleasantly against his back. He grins against her neck. She feels amazing. She arches her back and meets him thrust for thrust. Ivan thinks that next time, he’d like her to ride him. The image of her on top of him is delectable.

“Just think about it, my dear,” he growls. “You on top of me, my cock in you, you thrusting against it, whimpering,” he spins. “Trying desperately to reach your peak. I’d help, of course. Thrust up into you, marking you so deeply with my cum that you overflow.”

Tintin keens and comes around him. He soon follows.

“Mr. Sakharine,” a voice says. He turns around, confused. Where had that come from? “Mr. Sakharine,” the voice insistes, and the world fades around him. He opens his eyes, finding himself on his front in bed, Mr. Allan rousing him. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but we’re here,” he says. Sakharine nods. 

“I’ll be right there, Mr. Allan,” he says, not moving. The man leaves his room, and he grits his teeth at the mess he’d made. Good thing it had been hidden from his lackey. But oh, goodness, how nice that dream had been.


End file.
